But to-night he would have married me to a man three times my age. You will forgive me for bringing this vexation upon you, monsieur. You will, of course, decline this mad act he tries to force upon you. But let me thank you for your generous words, at least. I have had none spoken to me in so long."

    There was now something more than generosity in the poet's eyes. Poet he must have been, for Yvonne was forgotten; this fine, new loveliness held him with its freshness and grace. The subtle perfume from her filled him with strange emotions. His tender look fell warmly upon her. She leaned to it, thirstily.

    "Ten minutes," said David, "is given me in which to do what I would devote years to achieve. I will not say I pity you, mademoiselle; it would not be true - I love you. I cannot ask love from you yet, but let me rescue you from this cruel man, and, in time, love may come. I think I have a future; I will not always be a shepherd. For the present I will cherish you with all my heart and make your life less sad. Will you trust your fate to me, mademoiselle?"

    "Ah, you would sacrifice yourself from pity!"

    "From love. The time is almost up, mademoiselle."

    "You will regret it, and despise me."

    "I will live only to make you happy, and myself worthy of you."

    Her fine small hand crept into his from beneath her cloak.

    "I will trust you," she breathed, "with my life. And - and love - may not be so far off as you think. Tell him. Once away from the power of his eyes I may forget."

    David went and stood before the marquis. The black figure stirred, and the mocking eyes glanced at the great hall clock.

    "Two minutes to spare. A shepherd requires eight minutes to decide whether he will accept a bride of beauty and income! Speak up, shepherd, do you consent to become mademoiselle's husband?"

    "Mademoiselle," said David, standing proudly, "has done me the honour to yield to my request that she become my wife."

    "Well said!" said the marquis.